


Keys

by astrangerenters



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerenters/pseuds/astrangerenters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s fumbling his way through Debussy without sheet music, and he doesn’t even realize there’s someone else in the lounge until they start clapping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keys

For as long as Sho can remember, he’s played piano. His family had enough money to support it as more than a hobby when he was a child. He and his sister both had private instructors, and life was simply a progression from bed to school to the piano bench and back to bed again. Chopin followed him into his dreams more often than not.

He doesn’t dislike piano. He’s grown so accustomed to it that he’s not sure he could ever hate it. His piano teacher in high school had always said that Sho had potential for greatness, but he was more likely to express his emotions verbally than to let the keys do it for him.

He’s in college now, a double major of economics and music, and it frustrates him. His mind has to go in two very separate directions. One morning he’s covering macroeconomic theory, and by afternoon, his fingers are over the ivory trying to do Liszt justice. He’s not sure he wants to follow either path when he graduates. He can’t be a pianist - he hadn’t gone to a school for the arts. He can’t be an economist - his grades are above average, but he has no passion for the field.

He plays out his frustrations often on the poorly tuned piano in the student lounge, and he wonders what his teacher would have thought. Your face is miserable, his teacher would have said, but your music is tepid. Sho doesn’t know how to channel enough feeling into his playing. He’ll never be good enough - after all the money his parents have spent, he’s just average.

He’s fumbling his way through Debussy without sheet music, and he doesn’t even realize there’s someone else in the lounge until they start clapping.

Sho looks up and feels ill, seeing another student sitting in the corner of the room. The young man’s hair is mussed. He’d probably been sleeping when Sho had come in, so full of himself and his own problems to have noticed he was even there. But the other man doesn’t look angry - he looks genuinely happy.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” The lounge clock says it’s after 1 AM, the best time to play and not disturb anyone else since the room is pretty well soundproofed.

“My roommate snores,” the man explains, getting up to walk over. “But don’t worry about it. You were good.”

Sho snorts. “I forgot half the notes, improvised and filled in blanks.”

“I don’t know how to play, so you have the knowledge to fill in the blanks in the first place,” he says. “It’s impressive.”

Sho gets up, still embarrassed. “Thank you. But if you’re resting in here tonight, I won’t disturb you.”

“I’m in here a lot,” the man says. “Matsumoto.”

“Sakurai,” he says. “I’m on the third floor.”

“Sixth,” Matsumoto says. “And if you know more songs like that, I’d love for you to play me to sleep. I usually need to read or have some kind of noise anyhow. Well, not snoring. What I mean is, you don’t have to leave. You can play until I’m knocked out and then shut the light off when you leave. Really.”

Sho’s done recitals before, but he’s never really played for anyone specifically. Even his parents tended to avoid asking it of him. But the young man is earnest and eager for Sho’s music, even if it’s sloppy.

“Okay, I guess I could stay a little while.”

“If it’s not a bother for you,” Matsumoto reiterates. “Really, thank you.”

Sho watches him go back and curl up in one of the bigger lounge chairs. He notices that the guy had even brought a blanket. He really does stay down here a lot. Sho rarely feels nervous before a recital - again, as his teacher said, he never lets out enough when he’s playing. He’s boring, unimaginative as a musician. He plays the notes on the page as they are written.

But tonight he plays softer, slower, watching the young man with the mess of dark hair and long legs poking over the side of the chair. He plays through the Debussy, still going on memory. There’s still some improvisation, some fill in the blank moments, but they don’t seem as forced.

He gets through the piece, and he can’t tell if Matsumoto is sleeping or not, but he’s tired. He shuts the light off and closes the door, leaving his new friend and the out of tune piano behind.

\--

He discovers that more often than not, Matsumoto Jun is in the student lounge after 1:00 AM. Sho has exams to study for or music theory classes to think about, but he looks forward to the only truly captive audience he’s ever had. Matsumoto rarely says anything other than “thank you for playing,” which gives Sho a sense of calm rather than apprehension.

Sometimes Matsumoto claps just as Sho’s turning out the light. Sometimes Matsumoto comes over with his blanket and the cushions from the chair and lies down behind the piano bench. As the nights go on, and Sho varies his setlist, Jun comes closer and closer to listen to him.

Finally, one night, he turns to see Matsumoto reading some manga while he plays. “Did you want to learn part of this?”

Jun looks up. “You’ll teach me? I’m kind of tone deaf. You’ll have to be patient.”

Sho’s going home to see his parents tomorrow. There will be lectures on what he hopes to do come graduation next year, expectations for internships and job fairs. He’s not looking forward to it. Maybe if he makes the time with Jun stretch out, it’ll make home seem a little further away.

He pats the bench beside him. “I can be patient. Sometimes.”

Then Jun’s sitting beside him, and Sho feels his heart start to pound. He’s always been the one scolded, the one told how to do this or that, to play the notes a certain way. He teaches Jun something incredibly simple. He gets up, hands hovering over Jun’s to help him get his fingers on the right keys. There’s the slightest brushing of their hands when Sho tries to get Jun’s finger to the right place, and it’s like a tiny spark of electricity.

Sho finds that the more he plays for him and plays the piano with Jun, the more he likes him. Jun is quiet, and a little particular. He’s a perfectionist, asking Sho again and again if his hands are placed properly, if he’s hitting the right keys, if he needs to press the pedals at all. Piano becomes enjoyable, something he likes to tell Jun about. How to play this song or that, and even if Jun is a beginner, he’s diligent.

His nightly recitals for Jun become lessons instead, and the weeks go by. He learns about Jun’s troublesome roommate who snores like a foghorn. He learns that Jun’s studying history and doesn’t particularly enjoy it. He learns that Jun’s parents let him study whatever he wanted and because he had no idea what to do, he picked the subject he’d hated the least in high school. Where Sho’s life has always had some sort of trajectory, some level of control, Jun has had total freedom, and it’s left him adrift, unsure and lacking confidence.

\--

“What do you want to do when you graduate?” Jun asks him one night. “I’ll probably just get a job at some company, selling things I don’t really care to sell. Making money is the important thing I guess.”

“You should do something you love,” Sho says. “I guess we haven’t found something we love yet.”

Jun sighs. “I’m nineteen. How am I supposed to know what I love? I might change my mind ten years down the road. I just don’t know what I want.”

“I don’t either,” Sho replies. The more he talks to Jun, the more their conversations drift to the future and how very little either has thought about it. He taps the sheet music. “Come on, it’s almost 3:00. Let’s finish this bit at least.”

Jun stops Sho before he can play, fingers around his wrist. “You should teach.”

“I’m sorry?” Sho asks, feeling the warmth of Jun’s touch and not wanting him to let go.

But Jun releases him and turns to focus on the keys. Sho can see that the tips of Jun’s ears are reddening. “You’re a good teacher. You should teach piano.”

He stares at the sheet music, at Jun’s hands poised over the keys and then at his own hands. Sho isn’t sure if he loves teaching music to Jun or if he’d have the same amount of fun with other students. But even with how late it is, his mind starts going. Teaching. He wouldn’t have to be an economist, and he wouldn’t have to play professionally. He could work in a school or here at the university or offer private lessons. He doesn’t have to be a genius player - he just has to be competent enough to pass his skills on.

He’s bubbling with excitement, and the thought that Jun might have just given him the most common sense solution to a problem that’s plagued him for years. “Maybe,” he says, wondering if he’s giving away more emotions than his playing ever could. “I’ll think about it.”

“You should,” Jun says, not able to meet his eyes now. “Consider it.”

\--

He starts to talk with his teachers here at the university, asking them what sort of career possibilities they were. He could add on an education track and drop economics. It would displease his parents - giving up a safe government job in the civil service. And teaching music wouldn’t be as prestigious as playing in a fancy tuxedo in front of a crowd.

But, Sho realizes, it would probably make him happy. He knows he’s not destined to be a star, but maybe he could recognize it in someone else. He could guide that person, help them along and watch them shine. The thought of it motivates him more than he could have possibly imagined.

With one simple suggestion, Jun has changed his life. He has to thank him. But when he gets to the lounge that night, Jun’s not there. He waits and waits, and when there’s a tap on his shoulder, he realizes that’s he fallen asleep at the bench.

“I’m sorry,” Jun says, embarrassed. “I had a study session that ran way late...”

But Sho is still half asleep, and he pulls Jun to sit beside him, lazily wrapping his arm around him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, his head falling to Jun’s shoulder. “Because of you...”

“Because of me...what?”

“Gonna be a teacher,” he says, embracing the person who’s meant more than Sho can put into words. “May have to work somewhere part time. May have to sell something I don’t want to sell, but I’m going to be a teacher.”

“I’m glad,” Jun says, “but you don’t have to thank me for it.”

“I do,” he insists. “Jun...I owe you everything.”

Jun tries to pull away, but as Sho stirs awake a bit more, he knows he can’t let him get away. Jun’s lips are hesitant when Sho kisses him. It’s understandable - Sho’s only just woken. Who’s to say he isn’t drunk or something? But he cares about Jun and how much Jun has done for him and meant to him. He holds Jun’s face between his hands, touching Jun far more reverently and lovingly than he’s ever touched the piano keys. It’s never been the piano - it’s the students.

Although, Sho thinks nervously, he figures he’ll just fall in love with one student and be a good teacher to the rest.

He leans his forehead against Jun’s when he can’t kiss and breathe at the same time. “I...I’m sorry. I just...”

Jun shrugs. “I’ve never been happier that my roommate’s snoring sent me to this lounge. But...”

“...but it’s really late.”

“4:00 AM, in fact.”

“I’d better go,” he says and doesn’t move. Jun helps him up, hands guiding the same way Sho guides his when he’s teaching.

Jun’s lips brush against his forehead when they get to the lounge door. “Thank you.”

“Thank me?” he asks. “What for?”

“I may have helped you figure some things out,” Jun says quietly. “But you’ve done the same for me. Thank you.”

They part, and Sho doesn’t think of anything but how the feel of Jun’s mouth and Jun’s hands on him are more meaningful than any piece of music he’s ever played or heard.

\--

When Sho arrives at the lounge the next night, Jun looks confident, happier. He’s already sitting at the piano bench, and he pats it.

“I’m ready.”

“Well, you’re going to play this until you learn it,” Sho says, tapping the music book he’s brought.

He realizes that Jun’s never been lacking confidence about a job or about where he’ll end up. Jun’s just wanted to know who he is. They’ve helped each other figure out a lot of things.

Jun opens the music book, their thighs touching as they get ready to start practicing. “Come on, teacher. Let’s go.”


End file.
